Mona Hodgson - [Hearts Seeking Home 01] by Prairie Song Page B

miles, hers were sore. She needed to take off her shoes and put her feet up, but first she’d make sure her family had something to eat. Since dark clouds loomed on the horizon, the group only planned to stop long enough for quick refreshment for man and animal. The threat of a storm made it all the more critical they gain as much ground as possible before the rains made a muddy mess of the bottomlands.
    While Großvater started removing the yokes from the oxen so the animals could eat, Anna set up the small worktable then pulled bread and cheese from the grub box. Mutter unlashed two small cane chairs from the side of the wagon.
    “I still don’t see how walking miles and miles day after day, sleeping in a suspended rope bed, and cooking over a campfire is supposed to make things better.” A scowl creased Mutter’s forehead as she ground her favorite chair into the rocky soil on the other side of the table. Mutter hadn’t mentioned the missing bottles, but that didn’t mean she hadn’t searched for them. Their absence could very well be contributing to her bad temper today.
    Anna sighed in her exhaustion. They both missed their warm and comfortable beds back home. Why couldn’t she believe that was all that was wrong, that Mutter’s moodiness had nothing to do with her longing for the drink?
    Because she knew better. Mutter had set aside the bottle on several occasions and had never made it through the exasperation and headaches before succumbing to her thirst for deadening relief.
    Finished with the yokes, Großvater walked the oxen to the meadow near the pond where the rest of the livestock were feeding. Anna watched as he met up with Charles Pemberton and a few of the others in the field. At least the trip was doing Großvater some good. He’d taken quite keenly to visiting with the Company’s men, whether it be standing in a pasture or at a campfire.
    Mutter took slow steps to the covered pail that hung from an iron hook at the front of the wagon, then set the pail on the corner of the table.
    “Thank you.” Anna lifted the lid and peeked inside. “The butter set up nicely.”
    “Why wouldn’t it be churned? It’s a very bumpy, winding road.”
    As Anna spread butter on three chunks of crusty
roggenbrot
, she couldn’t help but wonder if her mother was referring to the road or her life. Both were true enough. Mutter hadn’t had an easy path. Her husband left her with two little ones. Her son died in the war. For as long as Anna could remember, Mutter’s constitution had been as unpredictable as the random twists and turns of the road they traveled today.
    When Mutter sank onto the chair, Anna set the bread on the cutting board and met Mutter’s gaze. “Are you feeling all right?”
    “I’m fine.” Mutter sighed, her thin shoulders sagging. “Just tired, very tired.”
    Anna wished that was all that was troubling her.
    “I am wrong to complain, dear.” Mutter brushed her graying brown hair off her face and into her faded bonnet, and glanced toward the Wainwrights’ wagon. “That poor Danish girl is making this trip with failing eyesight and a child to tend. Doesn’t even have Elsa Brantenberg, Mrs. Heinrich now, here to help her with all this work.”
    “Maren Wainwright.” Mutter had already quit going to the quilting circle when Maren joined, but Anna had introduced them at the last caravan meeting in Saint Charles. “Hattie and Bette Pemberton are lending Maren a hand. And Gabi is almost five now and a proud helper.” Someone here needed to focus on the positive aspects of the trip. “I sliced a block of cheese for her this morning.”
    Mutter crossed her arms as if fighting a chill. “I do wish I were more like you, dear. A saint. You always have been.”
    Like her? A saint? Always have been?
Except for the two different days shetold Boney she couldn’t marry him? If Anna didn’t have her hands full of bread and cheese, she’d be tempted to reach up and feel Mutter’s forehead